Sylvia Plath in Bhutan.

I found this on the ground near the primary school in Samtengang, a village in Bhutan. English is taught in the schools, but it still seemed charmingly mysterious, and I took a picture.

Of course, few things are really a mystery anymore with the internet. So when I was going through old picture files tonight and found this, I googled it. It turns out it is part of a poem, Mushrooms, by Sylvia Plath. And so, because I love a good poem, here is the missing beginning and ending:

Overnight, very
Whitely, discreetly,
Very quietly

Our toes, our noses
Take hold on the loam,
Acquire the air.

Nobody sees us,
Stops us, betrays us;
The small grains make room.

Soft fists insist on
Heaving the needles,
The leafy bedding,


Nudgers and shovers
In spite of ourselves.
Our kind multiplies:

We shall by morning
Inherit the earth.
Our foot’s in the door.


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